This Would Be A Happy Ending
by tanyart
Summary: A set of snapshots and glimpses of a relationship: If only “I Love You” could be translated into flinging furniture, sword fights, and idiotic pride. Robin and Ishiah would be married and retired by now. Or dead. But that’s a happy ending too.
1. Little Game, Big Ego

**Disclaimer:** Characters belong to Rob Thurman

**A/N:** A bunch of drabbles and ficlets centering around Robin, Ishiah, and their crazy violent love for each other with varying POVs, tones, and tenses. Some of the drabbles will not be in chronological order, but I will warn for spoilers and any sexual content before each chapter.

* * *

Post-Madhouse

There were bound to be a few problems with being in love with an immortal, self-proclaimed sex god.

But what he hated the most was the ego.

Ishiah gave an exasperated sigh, and then turned to the grinning puck, who should have been sleeping under all those painkillers, but wasn't— as Ishiah had belatedly found out.

"You _kissed_ me," Robin prompted, eyebrows up and waggling. He was already fumbling to take off his silk shirt, the _idiot._

"Only because I know you're immobilized and delirious enough to not to immediately attack me into sex," Ishiah replied blandly, effectively cutting whatever insinuations that might have occurred. Robin paused, looking a little downcast at the accusation and that was enough to give Ishiah some kind of hope. Nevertheless, the smirk flashed back on and, climbing stiffly out of bed, Robin leaned forward to where Ishiah was sitting.

"Uh-huh, I can play your little game too," he said quietly, "Just because I _am_ a sex god, doesn't mean I've forgotten what a simple kiss can mean."

With that, the puck brushed his lips against Ishiah's forehead, as quick and gentle as a warm breeze.

Watching Robin stumble back into bed, Ishiah rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

_Without a doubt…_

_…I definitely hate the ego._


	2. Speaking Easy

Pre-Series** - 1926**

"I'm not surprised. '_The Ninth Circle_'? I can tell that you came up with the name. Oh, and put that on my tab."

Ishiah glared at him from the other side of the bar, setting down the half-empty bottle of moonshine with more force than necessary.

"Here's your drink," he said, and turned away, "And I'm not keeping a tab."

Robin raised an eyebrow, "Aren't we adults now, Ishiah? I thought you'd move on by now. I haven't seen you in a century, after all."

It was true. Robin looked over the peri with casual interest, no more than to compare him from the last time Robin had seen him. Ishiah's hair was shorter, his eyes a whole lot older than what Robin remembered, and, of course, there was that scar. It hadn't been a scar the last time, but a real flesh wound that bled everywhere, courtesy of the one and only Robin Goodfellow.

The peri glanced back, a faint shimmer of wings momentarily setting a halo in his hair, but he was far from looking angelic besides.

"Honestly? I could have gone on for another millennia without seeing you again, but it looks like you haven't moved on either," Ishiah said, anger seething his words.

"Woah, don't go shooting in the dark now. You're not hitting a thing."

Ishiah faced him again, visibly furious, but it seemed the peri also did a lot of growing up; he hadn't gutted Robin with a sword yet, "Fine. Then why are you here?"

Robin didn't even pause, "You run a _bar_, Ishiah. I thought it'd be obvious enough."

"Of course," Ishiah said sarcastically, "Do I also run the only speakeasy in New York too?"

Well, that was something Robin would have to think about later, but he replied easily, "Well, it is the only clean bar where I can get a free drink and piss off its barkeep."

He could see Ishiah restraining himself. The Ninth Circle was a new establishment— Ishiah would have to keep his cool until he could set up a reputation for himself. It wouldn't do him any good if he started throwing furniture and patrons around yet.

"Robin, I want you out. _Now_."

Being merciful was never a virtue here, but Robin was getting bored anyway. He stood up, taking the bottle of moonshine with him. "Whatever you say, Ish. Put this on my tab."

"A tab would be suggesting that you'd come back, so no. Pay up, bastard."

Robin grinned, "Ah."

He left.

And, _of course_, he didn't pay.


	3. Somewhere in Spain

**A/N:** No spoilers for any of the books, save the first, naturally. Roughly takes place 50 years into the future.

* * *

"You and Ish are splitting?" Cal sputtered incredulously.

"Cal—"

"Okay, what going on? Did you two have another fight? No make-up sex this time?"

Robin sighed, waiting for Cal's breath to run out. It wasn't everyday that someone beat him in a word count race.

"It's more for my benefit, not his. Ishiah understands."

"Well, _I_ don't," Cal sat back on his chair, his jaw clamped shut and his grey eyes flashing angrily, waiting for Robin to cough up an explanation.

And Robin thought, _of course_ he wouldn't understand—not with Niko three years dead at the age of seventy-eight, and Caliban still looking as if he were no older than thirty. Why leave a loved one who was still alive? Why throw away the days you can spend together? Robin glanced at Cal, seeing these hurt questions in his expression, and the puck blew out a sigh. What could he say? That absence made the heart grow fonder? Well, that was a lie full of _skata_. Cal's heart had been breaking a little bit more each day ever since Niko passed away. Soon there wasn't going to be anything left, no matter how hard Robin— or Promise, or George, or Catcher, and countless other people that had appeared into his life—tried to fill in that bleeding gap.

"I'll grow tired of him," Robin finally said, picking up his glass of wine, "That's just how I am. Since I don't want that to happen, its better that I leave for a while. I thinking maybe for a decade or two."

Cal shook his head in disgust, but Robin saw a shade of acceptance softening his features. The kid might not like it, but he knew it was Robin's decision to make in the end.

"Where you headed?" Cal asked after a moment's consideration.

"I think I'll start somewhere in Spain, then work my way across," Robin said with a shrug, "You're welcomed to tag along."

"Whoring and conning all over Europe with you? Gee, what an honor," Cal drawled. There was a wry twist on his lips, but Robin could see he was pleased by the offer. Maybe it would do Cal some good to get out of New York and let his mind and body wander elsewhere. "I'll think about it."

Ishiah came by them, idly refilling Robin's glass and leaning over the counter to nip lightly at Robin's bottom lip. It had taken them _years_ not to spontaneously burst into a fight each time they saw each other, and another handful to act like a rational, non-violent couple. Most of the time they got it right.

"I'd hate to imagine what kind of mass destruction you two would cause, traveling together," Ishiah deadpanned before he left to take care of another customer.

Robin grinned and turned to Cal, "_That_ sounded like a challenge. What say you?"

To his pleasant surprise, Cal smirked back, looking a bit like his former bratty and cynical self, and looking a bit like Niko as well.

"What the hell. I say let's go."


	4. PDA

Post-Deathwish (No major spoilers)

* * *

**On PDA and Triple Dates**

"This," Robin declares, "is more awkward than sex."

"Sex is never awkward for you," Ishiah retorts, but the puck has a point. They're holding hands, and they're not naked or trying to fuck each other through the bed and walls. It feels funny. Ishiah glances down, sees their fingers laced together in a rigid, unnatural clasp. "But yes," he says, "It's awkward."

Robin looks at him like his wings have fallen off or something. Ishiah checks his back just to make sure this isn't the case, but his wings are in their non-existent state and aren't visible at all. As far as dates go with Robin, Ishiah thinks this is probably the most abnormally normal one they've had; an evening stroll in New York after dinner at some fancy restaurant, who would have thought?

"This awkwardness isn't working for me," Robin is saying, "First this, and now you're agreeing with me. It's like sitting with Shakespeare all over again while he was writing that first draft of Romeo and Juliet. There was enough mush to have it dribble out of your ears. Terrible story, by the way. Didn't have me in it. The bastard thought I'd be some sort of_ dues ex machina_ guy, but let me tell you, that Friar Laurence was one ugly, fat—"

"Robin," Cal interrupts, looking over his shoulder, "Shut up."

Delilah gives them a feral grin, "First time holding hands. Like little boys."

That shuts Robin up quickly, because Cal, who has the social and relationship skills of a desert cactus, has his arm casually around Delilah's waist like it's no big deal. And let's not forget about Delilah either, and while not an inept cactus like her boytoy, she certainly isn't one for G-rated PDA. Ishiah doesn't need to see Robin's expression of complete horror at Delilah's words. He can feel it. His fingers are being crushed.

And as if to make the blow worst, Niko and Promise catches up to them from behind. They're arm in arm like they invented it. Niko seems amused, and Promise actually looks like she's trying not to laugh.

"It is expected. Goat and pigeon, naturally strange together," Delilah continues with a toss of her silver-blonde hair, and Ishiah idly wonders how long it took Cal to get her in that modest cocktail dress. Probably the same amount of time it took Niko to wrestle Cal in a collared shirt and crisp slacks.

"Don't remind me," Ishiah says flatly, making Cal grin. He makes a mental note to have the boy mop up the restroom in the Ninth Circle when he comes to work tomorrow.

"It should feel nice, Robin," Niko says seriously, "You need to relax and trust Ishiah. It needs to be natural, smooth, and not forced."

Ishiah doesn't know Niko that well, but he thinks the human looks a little too bland to _not_ be making sexual innuendo. And even Ishiah knows enough that Niko would rarely resort to that kind of humor.

"Is it that bad?" Ishiah asks him. Niko is wise enough to stay silent and walk on with Promise. Cal and Delilah are already half a block away.

Staring angrily after them, Robin lets go of Ishiah's hand in disgust and throws up his arms. The last thing he needs is a lesson in hand-holding. "This is dumbest thing since the Egyptian pillow," he says hotly, and shoves his hands into his coat pockets.

Egyptian pillows were made of rocks. Ishiah remembers Robin telling him that. Pillow talk. Literally. At the expense of his pillows, which were neither rocks nor Egyptian.

"Oh really?" Ishiah replies back with an edge, "Aside from you whining about the food, you flirting with our waitress _and_ Niko, and you being a complete failure with casual displays of affection,_ I_ thought it was nice."

By the look on Robin's face, Ishiah knows he's wondering if that's a good or bad thing. They walk for a bit, not quite shoulder to shoulder. Finally, Robin takes his hand from his pocket, reaches out, and plants it firmly behind Ishiah.

"Well, this isn't so difficult. I think I can get used to this," Robin says confidently.

"Your hand is on my ass."

"Like I said," Robin shrugs.

Ishiah glares at him, but he doesn't move away.

As much as he would hate to admit it, he could sort of get used to it as well.


End file.
